


Founder's Day

by tjs_whatnot



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, Hogwarts Founders Era, M/M, Roleplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-02
Updated: 2009-12-02
Packaged: 2018-10-27 08:07:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10805154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tjs_whatnot/pseuds/tjs_whatnot
Summary: For 364 days a year and over 500 years, the Bloody Baron ignored him at the best of times, ridiculed and demeaned him at his worst. Sir Nicholas de Mimsy Porpington longed for that one night. That one moment masqueraded as another man when the Bloody Baron, also playing someone else, let Sir Nick in, allowed him into his imaginings, into his thoughts and into his bed.





	Founder's Day

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Annie, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Quidditch Pitch](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Quidditch_Pitch), which went offline in 2015 when the hosting expired
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> **Author's notes:**
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> Written for 2009's hp_rarities on LJ for inamac

Founders’ Day

 

 

Fixing his neck brace and working the ruffled collar buttons to conceal it, Sir Nicholas de Mimsy Porpington looked at himself appraisingly in the rusted mirror of his bedchambers. This was his favorite time of year, even more so then his Death Day party, and he titillated excitedly over the last of the preparations. For this, the getting ready was just the beginning of the glorious fun. The rest would come when he joined his fellow house ghosts, the last would come at the very end, when it was just him and the Bloody Baron, alone and pretending still to be other people.

Today was the house ghosts’ 432nd reenactment of the founding of Hogwarts in the annual Founders’ Day Celebration. That was the year Nicholas had become the official ghost of Gryffindor Tower, and he had been integral in the creation of the Founders’ Day reenactment activities. He had spent the first decades of his death striving to prove himself to those ruffian deviants of the Headless Hunt and the next 432 years becoming the utmost expert on the life of Godric Gryffindor.

He never felt more like the man, more brave and proud then when he put on the scabbard and sword. Ghosts were not brave by nature. It took a certain brand of cowardice to choose this afterlife. Nicholas was no exception to this rule, but when he put those artifacts on, he  _became_  Gryffindor. 

Cinching the belt, he reached for the sword, hanging low on his left hip, with his right arm and in one fluid motion, pulled it from its sheath and held it effortlessly pointed out ready to parley with invisibly foes. His chest swelled with pride. There was nothing he couldn’t do and he felt the life that he usually led, the everyday weaknesses and pettiness of it floated away as he rose up and flew out of his room. It was time. 

***  
The summer months at Hogwarts belonged to the ghosts and the house elves. The week before term started was when they performed their reenactments. Ghosts from all over Britain and Europe come to watch the show, or parts of it; it was an all day performance and some parts were more exciting than others. Of course, everyone was there for the beginning, for those moments when fates and magic as old as time brought these four like-minded and equally powerful witches and wizards together. Of course, there was also a large crowd that met for the conclusion of the partnerships, the end of the great era of Hogwarts unity; everyone loved drama.

The performers met in the staff rooms outside of the Great Hall. They could hear the crowds gathering on the other side, ready to see the opening scenes. Each of them arrived in their full regalia and as they congregated they transformed so that moments before they approach the stage they had  _become_  their characters. It was the easiest for The Grey Lady of course; she was the most familiar with her House’s namesake, it being her mother after all. The Fat Friar and the Bloody Baron had the hardest time, mostly for The Fat Friar it was the physicality of his character. It was rumored around the ghosts and portraits those months before the performance he spent his nights sleeping in an hourglass. Helga Hufflepuff was a voluptuous woman said to turn the head of any wizard in her day. The Fat Friar was…well, he was The Fat Friar.

The Bloody Baron’s case was different. It wasn’t that he didn’t have the ability or the strength to play Salazar Slytherin; it was that he had to constantly reevaluate the man from the myth, and therefore, was constantly having to adjust his performance to match the new data that had been uncovered. Those first few years he had been smug in his knowledge, after all, he had been at Hogwarts almost as long as The Grey Lady and had only missed Salazar’s departure by a few decades. He had first-hand testimony to base his presentation on. It turned out though, that the man people remembered wasn’t exactly who the man was, and as can be said for many people, the way he was perceived was not necessarily how the man actually lived his life. Their job as re-enactors was not to tell the story of what people  _thought_  these people were, but to tell what they _actually_  were. 

Nicholas often marveled at the preconceived notions of the Founders, based merely on their namesake houses’ characteristics and supposed prejudices. Nicholas had once thought this himself—and The Grey Lady’s aloofness, The Fat Friar’s overly cheerful nature and, of course, The Bloody Baron’s surliness didn’t help dispel it. Not to mention, thought Nicholas, his own brave jocularity. In his experience, Gryffindors were often determinedly brave, but also had a love of life and comradery that he had always attributed to Godric himself.

Imagine Nicholas’ shock when they discovered that Godric Gryffindor was steadfast and rather humorless, that Salazar Slytherin was loyal, almost to a fault, and in his days at Hogwarts, the word “evil” had never, ever been used to describe him. It wasn’t until he had left that his name was maligned by the remaining founders who felt used and portrayed. None more so then Godric.

Nicholas recalled when the ghosts had discovered all of this, how the Bloody Baron had been intolerably smug, as if his biggest hypothesis had been proven right. He remained so until that year’s Founders’ Day when he actually had to act out the newly discovered traits that were so far removed from his natural temperament.

The Bloody Baron had conformed and transformed though. For one day only, he became Salazar Slytherin, even if it meant that he was there for his friends no matter what, even if it meant that occasionally he smiled and exchanged pleasantries, and even if it meant that at the end of the day and for one night only, he had to invite a male into his bed. Nicholas.

For yes, that was another thing they had discovered about their characters.

He and the Bloody Baron had worked tirelessly for years to perfect their performance, to get their routine just right. They had devoted hours upon hours of research to investigate every single moment of recorded time about their characters.

The hours they spent alone in the library, just the two of them, was the only time that Sir Nicholas ever felt alive anymore. When they found documents of a rather private nature, diary entries and snatches of letters that suggested that perhaps Gryffindor and Slytherin might have been more then friends who turned to enemies, Nicholas actually caught himself holding his useless breath. 

“Look at this,” Nicholas had said, pulling a thin volume from the highest shelf, where they kept the histories that were decaying and therefore needed fragile handling. 

“What is it?” The Bloody Baron asked, then grumbled angrily, “If it’s another treatise on fair play and cooperation by Huf, keep it to yourself, I’ve had enough of those to last another millennia.”

“Ow! No, I don’t think it’s that. It’s obviously got curses attached,” Nicholas said, putting the book down and showing the other man his blistered fingers.

Intrigued, the Bloody Baron put aside his own tome and studied what Nicholas was laying beside him. It was difficult, and most people felt unnecessary to curse a book so that even ghosts would be punished for breaking its barrier. Curiosity won out and half an hour later, both with swollen and bruised hands, they had revealed the title and felt it was all worth it.

_Salazar Slytherin in Exile_

Nicholas almost felt hair stand up on his arms and he moved closer to the Bloody Baron so they could read together what was said as he slid his finger under the cover and gently pulled the book open.

_It is with heavy heart that I write this, my last missives from these Hallowed Halls. It has become painfully obvious that my words and thoughts have been twisted and maligned to push me out for reasons that only few truly know. I have tried in this as I have with everything else to fight for what I believe and to educate the world with the dangers of Wizarding integrations and Muggle influences._

_Those who say they don’t agree, or those that say I have taken the limits too far say so not knowing all the facts or not fully appreciating the implications. Only one I believe has a more sinister reason for slandering my steadfast convictions and these reasons will more than likely only be known by he and I._

_Even know, I have a hard time speaking against him and still have a harder time believing that he wishes ill of me. Perhaps I write this for my own desire to come to terms to the end of something that was more to me then friendship, more than brotherhood. For he was that and more._

Nicholas’ transparent finger hovered over those last two words…  _and more._

“What do you think that means?” Nicholas whispered.

“I’m sure I don’t know,” The Bloody Baron huffed.

They flipped the page. An envelope yellowed with age fluttered to the floor. Nicholas swept down and retrieved it and carefully released the parchment from within. 

This handwriting was rushed and sloppy.

_Salazar:_

_I will be at your bedchambers when the clock strikes eleven. I hope to find you there and unoccupied with your tedious studies and ruminations._

_G.G.  
_

Nicholas felt a hammering in his chest that reminded him of what it was to be alive. “Oh my,” he hissed through his teeth.

They continued to read the diary and the odd piece of correspondence that Salazar had decided for some reason or other to include within the pages of his last journal before he was banished from the castle. It was read, reread and debated about between the two of them for weeks before they presented the new documents to the others. The Fat Friar, who was already gaining his shapeliness and had begun wearing rogue and lipstick in preparation laughed knowingly. 

“I knew it. I knew there was more to the relationship than was generally known. It all makes sense now.”

“This is preposterous; everyone knows Godric was in love with my mother, even though she spurned his advances repeatedly.” The Grey Ghost drawled.

“Oh, please,” The Bloody Baron started with a growl, “Your egomania overreaches itself and reflects onto your poor innocent mother who didn’t have a vain bone in her body. There is no proof that Godric felt anything for Rowena other then scholarly respect and sisterly affections.”

Ravenclaw’s daughter bristled and retaliated. “You’re just saying that as you want this excuse to finally get your disgusting paws on poor Nicholas, could you be more obvious?”

The Bloody Baron puffed but Nicholas blushed profusely and there was a pounding in his ears that completely drowned out the arguing ghosts around him.

That was the first year that Nicholas and the Bloody Baron began the private performance at the end of the show. It wasn’t much of a performance that first time, more a debate, an argument and a compromise that they would delve further into the new data and experiment with the interpretation. Mostly though, the agreed that these performances would remain private until they had perfected the re-creation to both their satisfaction. That had been 120 years ago.

At first, Nicholas looked forward to this one night a year because it was the one chance he got to be close to the Bloody Baron without any fear. As the years went on though he began to think it wasn’t the Bloody Baron he had feelings for, it was his Salazar. Maybe it was the Godric he had learned to master, and maybe it was because he felt the most like Godric while there in that bedchamber, he was never sure anymore and it stopped mattering. All that mattered was that for those brief hours, he felt more alive than he had in centuries. 

***

With the sounds of the thunderous applause still ringing on Nicholas’ ears he approached the door to the bedchamber of Salazar Slytherin. He took a deep instinctive and unnecessary breath and almost felt his lungs expand and for a fluttering moment felt what it must feel like to have his heart beat faster.

He ran his hands through his careless bronze locks to make sure that the enchantment of Godric was still entangled in his essence. It wouldn’t do to let Nicholas’ nervousness override Godric’s cocky control and swagger. He knocked confidently; as if he knew the man behind that door couldn’t possible deny him entrance.

Salazar opened the door hesitantly and the last bit of Nicholas’ nerves floated away as he pushed the door open further and entered the dim-lit room. It was cold, Nicholas noticed with a concealed smile—too feel was almost overpowering. It was the last Nicholas thought he would have for the rest of the evening.

“I see you’re packed,” Godric said, scanning the room.

“Yes, it seemed a good idea to get out before the angry villagers arrived with pitchforks,” Salazar hissed, shutting the door and continuing to empty his room.

“Always had a flair for the dramatics.”

“Am I imagining the letters from disturbed parents? Am I hallucinating the children being pulled out of school?”

“No. Those are real.”

“And all thanks to you.”

Godric leaned against an opened armoire looking bored. “Not this again. When are you going to come to understand the times are changing? Nobody follows the old ways anymore and we’ve got to change with them, or become irrelevant as no one will send their children to us to train anymore.”

“But what are they going to  _allow_  us to teach their children? Oh, that’s right, there is no  _us_  anymore.” Salazar still hadn’t turned around to face Godric.

Godric came up behind him soundlessly and slowly ran both of his middle fingers up Salazar’s arm and across his shoulders before balling a handful of his hair in his fist and tugging slightly before breathing in his ear. “Is it really that easy to walk away?”

Finally Salazar turned around and pulled himself out of Godric’s clutches.  _“Easy?”_  You think it’s easy for me to hate… to hate you after all… all we’ve been through?”

Godric approached him again; standing so close his golden curls touched Salazar’s long dark hair as they leaned into each other, loathing on Salazar’s face fighting with hungered longing on Godric’s. 

“I did what I had to do,” Godric whispered, his mouth to the other man’s ear. “It was what was best for the school. It was all for the school.”

“You maligned my name to protect an ideal that will crumble around you. This school used to stand for something; when you destroyed me, you destroyed that.”

Godric rested his head on Salazar’s shoulder and caressed his face gently. Sighing, he whispered, “I wish there could have been another way.”

A shiver ran through Salazar. “I wish I could…” he started as Godric began peppering his neck with feather-light kisses. “could…” Godric hooked his finger at Salazar’s collar and pulled, licking his Adam’s Apple. “Hate you,” he finished with a moan.

Godric looked into Salazar’s eyes with a lust-tinted gaze and tentatively licked the man’s lips open and slithered his tongue into his mouth. For a moment, Salazar just stood there, but then he opened his mouth into the kiss and returned it. After that it was only a minute that his self-hatred seemed to war with his desire before he had his arms tightly around Godric’s body, pulling him tightly to him.

The kiss continued until Salazar ground his cock into Godric’s. “Mmmmm,” he said, balling Salazar’s hair into his fist and rubbing his forehead against his. “I’m glad you don’t hate me.”

The  _yet_  hovered in the air almost audibly.

Then he kissed him again as he worked off the man’s robes before tending to his own. Splaying his fingers flush against Salazar’s chest, he pushed him onto the bed. “Glorious,” he said, running his eyes up and down the alabaster skin and the sleek black hair that peppered the chest and crotch of the man who was laying before him, his head thrown back and eyes closed.

Godric got down on his knees before the man. “We have the whole rest of our lives to perfect and hone our disgust and loathing; let’s have this one last night. Let me worship you once again.” 

Salazar bit his lip, hard enough that it must have been painful with just the look in his eyes and a slight lifting of his chin, consented.

Godric put a hand on each of Salazar’s thighs and spread him wide enough so that he could sandwich himself in between. With his thumbs he began to massage Salazar’s thighs in large circles while his strong fingers made their way to his middle. Taking his balls in his hand, Godric squeezed and rolled them in his fingers. Salazar moaned and his cock hardened. 

“Remember that first time?” Godric asked with hitched breath as he took the other man by the base of his shaft and began stroking slowly.

Salazar was biting his lip hard again, but pulled it out to mumble, “Please, stop talking. I don’t want to take that—” He arched his back and inhaled sharply. Godric had flicked his hole teasingly.

“Please,” Salazar begged.

Godric reached into his discarded robes and pulled out a bottle of lubricating ointment. Splashing a copious quantity of liquid into his hand he rubbed his hands together, coating both. With one hand he took himself and slathered his cock. With the other hand, he massaged the base of Salazar's cock with his thumb and his middle finger at his crack where he dragged it slick and hot to Salazar's hole before inserting one and then two fingers.

Salazar moaned hungrily and putting his hands on his knees pulled his legs up, spreading himself wider, as Godric stretched him from the inside, scissoring his fingers before stroking the man’s prostrate with long, diligent swipes.

Salazar began chanting in Latin, sounding very much as if he were in prayer. He made to grab at his cock desperately but Godric slapped his hand away. “Not yet.”

“Please,” Salazar begged again, this time in an ancient language that would soon be dead.

Godric murmured in that same language as he stood up and pushing firmly at the back of Salazar’s thighs, entered him with a hard jerk of his hips.

“So good,” Godric whispered as he pulled out and then drove himself inside again. “So tight.”

Salazar was whining with need.

“Please,” he cried out once again, his hand yearning to wrap around his own cock and stroke in rhythm with Godric’s thrusts.

With just a look, Godric gave his permission as he increased his pace, hips jerking more and more forcibly, slapping Salazar’s arse.

Matching Godric’s pace, Salazar began to stroke himself; his moaning had became continuous and increased in volume with each thrust. As Godric’s come filled him, Salazar felt his own orgasm ripping through him, curling his toes and making him see stars.

Salazar closed his eyes, and with his own jism drying in his chest hair, lost consciousness. When he opened his eyes again, Godric was above him, his nose rubbing against Salazar’s, his lips lightly kissing his mouth, his cheeks, eyelids and forehead. 

Godric fell beside Salazar, resting his leg lazily over the other man’s and gently caressing circles around the man’s nipple. “Can I stay here tonight? I’ll help keep the torch-barring villagers at bay.”

“You can stay,” Salazar answered. “As long as you don’t talk.”

“Fine,” Godric said, kissing Salazar’s shoulder. “Perhaps I can think of other things to do with these lips.”

Salazar turned towards him as if against his will and kissed him slow and tenderly before drifting off to sleep. Godric sighed and followed him to sleep.

Once Godric’s drooping eyes closed for the last time, Salazar slithered out of his arms and for a moment stood above the slumbering body before pulling his robes back around him and reaching for his bags. Again, he came to stand over the man.

“I really hope tomorrow I wake up and the hatred has begun to fester. Please let it be true.”

He walked to the door and without another backward glance walked through it.

***

As soon as the Bloody Baron left, the enchantment was lifted and the gossamer being on the bed awoke with a sigh. He was once again Nicholas, he was once again dead and he was once again alone. He touched his lips and smiled. Each year the sensation of Salazar’s last kiss lingered a little longer, the feel of the man’s skin under his stayed with him a bit more. 

And each year the countdown to the next year’s performance began again.


End file.
